


spit your tongue out

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Tony Stark Bingo 2019: Round 2 [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Civil War Team Iron Man, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 02:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19432339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: Sam is the last to come out of the Quinjet when it lands, and he looks just as handsome as he was the last time Tony saw him, a little thinner, a little wearier, more lines in his face that comes from exile.His lungs are in his throat the entire time, and when Sam finally looks at him, his face hollowed out, he’s absolutely terrified of what he might say.Sam doesn’t say anything.Written for the "mission sex" square for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019.





	spit your tongue out

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019.
> 
> Warnings: explicit sexual content, Tony is correct for the purposes of CW, Sam is a good boyfriend, okay.
> 
> The title from this poem comes from one of Rupi Kaur's poems in Milk and Honey.

Sam is the last to come out of the Quinjet when it lands, and he looks just as handsome as he was the last time Tony saw him, a little thinner, a little wearier, more lines in his face that comes from exile.

His lungs are in his throat the entire time, and when Sam finally looks at him, his face hollowed out, he’s absolutely terrified of what he might say.

Sam doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he folds his hands behind his back, drawn taut as a bow.

Steve is the first one to speak, of course, because who else would have the gall.

“Hi, Tony,” he says, shyly, this man, who, months ago, had been willing to kill him.

 _Fuck off, Steve, just… fuck off_ is what he actually wants to say.

Instead, he gives him a flat look. “Your rooms are the same as they were before you left. Go near the east wing, though, and you may be eviscerated, fair warning.”

Steve nods to himself, wincing at the cold reception, and Tony feels that flash of satisfaction, selfish and mean. His eyes trail to Sam’s, dark and kind beneath his long lashes, and he has the sudden urge to fling himself into his arms, to go boneless, sweet and trusting, but that isn’t an embrace open to him any longer.

He turns on his feet and storms away, before he does something stupid.

* * *

Sam is lingering outside his bedroom when Tony deigns to climb out of his workshop.

For a moment, Tony considers running back the other way.

This is a confrontation he was not looking forward to, by any means.

“What do you want, Sam?” he demands, tempering his tongue right from the get-go.

“I just…” Sam makes an odd little gesture with his hands, as if hoping they’d do the explaining for him. He clears his throat. “My things, they’re still in your room.”

 _Fuck_.

“Oh,” Tony says, lamely.

“I know you said don’t come down here,” Sam begins, quickly. “But I kind of need... and the door wouldn’t open for me…”

_Because I wanted to remove every trace of you from my life, but I conveniently forgot your fucking things were still in my room. On occasion, very few, mind you, and that’s all I’ll admit to, I can be an absolute moron._

Tony finally sighs and steps forward, running the flat of his palm down the edge of the door, which slides open with a slick, clean sound.

“Thanks,” Sam says, hurriedly.

He steps inside, and Tony breathes easy, until he comes out of Tony’s room (he’s not scared, letting someone no better than a stranger now do what they’d like in his room, because FRIDAY is watching, she’s always watching, and she’s meaner than she’s ever been before, much like her father, and he knows that she’d stop anything before it came to bloom). Sam has a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder, and he stops short of running straight into Tony, his face crumpling with sheer exhaustion.

“I think… I think that’s everything,” he sighs.

Tony lifts his eyes, clear and open and unyielding. “If I find something, I’m happy to send it down to your rooms,” he says, mock-cheerfully.

Sam flinches and ducks his head, nodding. “Yeah, sure.” He takes a deep breath. “Tony, I just want to say-”

“I’m not interested,” Tony says, flatly.

“Tony,” Sam says, anguished. “I can explain.”

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t want to rehash this, okay,” he says, haltingly. “I just… you made your choice and I made mine. There’s nothing left to say.”

“I love you, Tony,” Sam whispers.

“Yeah, well, love doesn’t make the world turn around.” Tony wraps his arms around himself.

“Just let me, please, just let me explain,” Sam insists.

“He wouldn’t _believe_ us?” Tony snaps.

Sam pales. “That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s _exactly_ what you meant,” Tony retorts with enough venom. “So, yeah, when you say you love me, I call bullshit. Because if you really thought I wouldn’t believe you that HYDRA had five other super soldiers getting ready to burn this world to the ground, well, that means, to me, you _don’t_ love me.”

“Of course, I do!” Sam says, voice strained and taut at the edges.

“I loved you, you know,” Tony says, fond and rueful. “I thought, wow, I’ve finally managed to do this right, this time. I thought, what the fuck did I do in a past life to have someone as good and decent as Sam Wilson to fall for _me_?” He draws himself together, arms himself with all the righteous rage, the fire, the pride, that he can. “But clearly, I was mistaken. Don’t worry, though, that won’t ever happen again.”

“Tony-”

“We’re done here,” Tony says, finally, and walks away.

* * *

Sam finds him drinking that night, in the kitchen, a half-full bottle of scotch and an equally full glass beside it.

“You don’t have to run away,” Tony says, wearily, when he spots Sam trying to slink out through the shadows before he can see him.

“I don’t want to disturb you,” Sam says, awkwardly.

“Yeah, well, you’re already inside, I’ve already seen you, so you might as well, take a seat,” Tony drawls, filling his glass up to the brim.

Sam lopes forward and takes a seat opposite Tony, eyeing the glass between Tony’s thin, olive fingers warily.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” he says, slowly.

In a different world, or perhaps a couple of months ago, he may have listened to Sam, been willing to be bundled up in his arms and led to bed, because cuddling seemed like an easier, better comfort than alcohol ever could be.

But, tonight, all he does is give Sam a baleful look.

“You have two options here,” he begins, coldly. “You can grab ice cream from the freezer and take a seat, if you promise to stop giving me that judgy look. Or you can leave.”

Sam sighs and slides to his feet, making his way over to the freezer and swinging it open. Whatever he sees there startles him into an odd little noise, and Tony looks up.

“You kept my Moose Tracks ice cream?” Sam asks, softly.

Tony looks away, his throat working. “Well, I like it too,” he admits grudgingly.

No, he doesn’t.

Sam, judging by the lovesick, clean look in his eyes, doesn’t believe him so easily either. He takes his seat after a moment.

“Is everything okay?” Sam asks.

“Everything’s fine,” Tony drawls. “Everything’s always fucking fine.”

Sam snorts. “Now, I definitely know it isn’t.” He eyes the manila folder under the flat of Tony’s palm. “What’s that?”

Tony swallows, thickly. “It’s some research,” he replies, thinly.

“Tony,” Sam sighs.

Tony shakes his head.

“Tony,” Sam says, a stern edge to his voice.

He’s brave enough to reach out and tangle their fingers together and fuck, Tony wants to sob, ugly and wrecked, because this is the first time he’s felt warm since Sam left his bed to go to Lagos.

Fuck, he’s missed Sam, he’s missed Sam like he’s missed air to breathe, because Sam had been the firm, bright presence in his corner that Tony had desperately needed throughout the years, and now he was gone, and Tony had to be bitter because the break-up was bitter, and Tony doesn’t think he has the strength to be bitter.

“Hey, hey,” Sam’s voice softens. He jumps out of his chair and comes around the side of the table, dragging the chair along with him until he’s sitting right beside him, so close that their knees knock together. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you can talk to me, I promise.”

“Can I?” Tony asks, strained.

“Tony,” Sam drags a hand over his face. “I said something stupid in that warehouse, which I shouldn’t have, because I know you, I love you, and I know you would have done everything and anything to help us if you knew about the threat. I’m sorry…” he licks his lips. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t trust you, because I do. And I’m so fucking sorry for how everything turned out, the airport and the Raft and everything else. Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry.”

His face is hard as stone, a strained, stricken look flashing at him, and Tony has the sudden urge to curl in his lap.

“We weren’t supposed to fight,” Sam says, dully. “I never wanted to fight any of you, especially you. I was never supposed to fight you, and I did, and I hate that, okay.”

“I just…” Tony shakes his head, lifting his eyes to reveal something brittle. “Did you really think I’d ask you to sign the Accords if I didn’t think they were okay to sign? I mean, Sam, for fuck’s sake, you’ve known me for years, before Afghanistan, before Stane, before Vanko, before all of it. You know me better than anyone, other than Rhodey, or at least, I thought you did. Because I thought you knew I’d never let you sign something that would end up hurting you. I’d never let anything or anyone hurt you,” he says, fiercely.

Tony leans into the touch when Sam touches his cheek, thumb smoothing over the fine bone.

“I’m sorry,” Sam finally says, quiet and careful. “All I can keep doing is saying I’m sorry, and maybe that’s not enough, maybe you think I’m just saying words, but Tony, baby, I love you, and I hate that we fought, I hate that we’re like _this_ now.” He drags his hand over his face. “I said something dumb in that warehouse, something I didn’t even mean, and I’m so fucking sorry about that, baby. Of course, of fucking course, you would’ve believed us. I didn’t… fuck, I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

Tony chuckles, a little damp, a little strained, a twisted. “Yeah, you really did.” He looks away, letting Sam’s hand fall lamely back into his lap. “I just...” he bites his lip. “Did you know?” he asks, drawing himself in tight. “Did you know about Barnes and my parents?”

Maybe this is the final stone he has to cross; once he knows this, he can rage and scream and sob and put Sam Wilson away forever, like you put away bad things for you forever.

Sam’s brow furrows. “What does Barnes have to do with your parents?” he asks, sceptically.

Tony searches him, carefully, methodically, like he’s peeling Sam to the root, because that’s the only way to do this, to be sure; because, if Sam is lying, he’s going to make sure Sam chokes on his lies.

But Sam’s eyes are clear and open, blank with guilelessness, not with stupidity, and Sam’s never been much for lying; he’s never been good at it, nor has he ever wanted to.

It’s what drew Tony to him in the beginning, when he was a man who delighted in drink and good sex and a great time, and Sam Wilson was this hot pararescueman that Tony was dressing up in equally hot experimental gear. He loved Tony for Tony, not Tony Stark, and that made all the difference; he loved Tony for his robots, not for his bombs; he just loved Tony, and so, it was so easy to love Sam back, even without his kindness, his integrity, his humour and his strength.

“You don’t know then,” Tony says, pulling back, hands splaying out against his thighs.

“Know what?” Sam asks, confused.

“Barnes killed my parents,” Tony explains, dully.

His hands grow hot, remembering the snap of bone as Howard’s skull caves in, the wracked, wretched sob from Maria as she’s strangled to death.

Sam stills. 

“What?” he asks, his composure slipping.

“Barnes, he killed my parents in 1991,” Tony whispers, fingers clenching and unclenching around air. “There was, uh, a video in Siberia. That’s what, um, Zemo showed us, the Winter Soldier killing my parents.”

“Tony,” Sam says, carefully. “Your parents died in a car accident.”

Tony laughs, brittle and breathless. “No, uh, that’s what I thought, but, uh, they didn’t. He… he crashed their car, drove them off the road. My dad fell out and he, uh, he just kept punching him, even after Howard recognised who he was, and then, he came around to the other end, where my mum still was, and he, uh, he put his hand around her throat and-”

He’s unable to finish the sentence, instead miming the act of choking with his bare hand.

It’s a scene of dark comedy.

Sam is pallid with rage when he finishes.

“What the hell, Tony,” he growls.

“Yeah,” Tony says, dully.

“Fuck,” Sam breathes, nails scraping against shorn hair. “Fuck, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

“Did you know?” Tony demands, hard and ugly. “Did you know that Barnes killed my parents?”

Sam gapes at him in disbelief. “Tony-”

“Just-” Tony all-but slams his hands down on the table. “Just tell me the truth,” he says, grimly, wearily. “Tell me if you knew.”

_Tell me so I know who the traitors are, tell me so I can put you away, Sam, and never think about you again, tell me so I can finally be free._

“Of course not!” Sam snaps. “You really thought I knew and I’d just… what? I’d be with you like that, I’d date you and kiss you and make love with you and just keep that secret?”

“You were looking for Barnes for _two_ years,” Tony accuses. “You’re telling me you had no fucking idea what he’d done in seventy years?”

“Yeah, I was looking for him for two years because Steve-” Sam’s eyes slowly dawn with realisation. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Tony raises his scotch glass in the air in a mockery of a salute. “Unfortunately not, darling.”

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “What a colossal fuck-up,” he mutters.

“You got that right, baby.”

“Tony,” Sam begins, pathetically earnest, tangling his hand with Tony’s. “Tony, you gotta know, you gotta know I had no fucking clue about Barnes. And if I did, if I’d have found out, I would’ve told you. Fuck, baby, there’s no fucking way I would’a kept that from you.”

Tony swallows, thickly, and looks away. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll-”

Sam touches his jaw, over his beard, thumb dragging back and forth. “Tony, I would never lie to you,” he swears.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam replies, firmly. “I love you, Tony. I fucking love you, and I swear to you, I swear to you on my mum and dad’s grave, I didn’t know about Barnes and your parents. If I’d found out, I would’ve fucking told you, I promise.”

_You didn’t know, you didn’t know, you didn’t fucking know._

His heart swells, and he grips Sam’s shoulder for support.

“I’m here,” Sam promises, hand coming to cover Tony’s. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not.”

Tony nods, staring down at his lap.

* * *

The next morning, Tony comes down into the common room, only to find Sam beside Peter guzzling a bowl of cereal in front of Saturday morning cartoons. He walks past them to smooth a hand over Peter’s hair and clap a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He walks smack-dab into Steve, who’s nursing a shiner the size of a ripe peach. He curls away before his body can come into contact; that’s how much he doesn’t want to touch Steve Rogers.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks, flatly.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just flings an uncertain, tormented look at Sam, who meets his eyes, squarely, measured, like he has nothing to hide, like he’s proud.

Tony gapes at him in disbelief. _You have got to be kidding me._

A minute later, Sam’s façade breaks, and he winks at Tony, making his cheeks flood.

Tony shakes his head. _You’re a fucking loser,_ he mouths.

Sam shrugs. _I’m okay with that_ , his eyes tell.

Tony hides a smile.

* * *

That night, Tony finds himself in the communal kitchen once more, with Sam, eating from a tub of ice cream, his dumb Moose Tracks ice cream.

“So,” Sam says, casually, licking his spoon with gusto, a lightness in his eyes that Tony hadn’t seen in so long, hadn’t wanted to see, not since Lagos. “You ever gonna tell me what’s in that file, babe?”

Tony flicks over a page. “I haven’t decided yet,” he says, loftily.

Sam’s look turns firm, more deliberate. “Is it something dangerous, something I should be worried about?”

Tony lifts his eyes. “I don’t need a protector,” he scoffs.

“No, you don’t,” Sam says, easily. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be yours, and it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be there for you if I can be.”

It’s like something’s leaking inside him, when Tony swallows. He finally closes the file, laying it out on the table. His hands are hot when he folds them in his lap.

“I’m adopted,” he finally blurts out, when something in his chest gives way.

To his credit, Sam stumbles, staring at him goggle-eyed before he sinks into a chair.

“Okay,” he says, slowly.

Tony manages to crack a smile in face of it. “Amanda Armstrong,” he says, solemnly. “My mother, my birth mother, that’s her name.”

Sam frowns. “The musician?”

“Yeah, her.” Tony clears his throat. “She was SHIELD, apparently. She fell for a guy who was also SHIELD, but with Romanoff’s public outing, he-” he grits his teeth. “He was fucking HYDRA, and he tried to kill her. Fucking HYDRA.” He shakes his head. “They killed one of my mothers, and they tried to kill the other one.”

His fist curls on his lap. Until he sees every single fucking Nazi HYDRA cunt dead at his feet, he doesn’t think he’ll be happy ever again.

“She was scared for me,” he says, quietly. “So, she gave me up. And Dad,” he swallows. “Howard, he knew everything, he knew about… about Amanda and Jude, that’s the HYDRA bastard, he knew, so he adopted me, because my mum, Maria, she couldn’t have kids, so…”

A hand clenches around his.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam soothes.

“No, no, it’s not,” Tony says, dully. “My father, my biological father, he’s a Nazi. You know what that’s like? I’m fucking Jewish.”

“And?” Sam says, belligerently. “You think that changes who you are? Howard and Maria Stark brought you up, Tony. And yeah, okay, Howard was a total dick, but you loved Maria. And you loved Jarvis and Ana, didn’t you? And your Aunt Peggy? Family isn’t just people bound to you by blood, it’s the ones you make. Like Rhodey and Pepper and Happy. Fuck this Jude guy, and fuck Howard. You’re a product of the women that raised you, babe, and Jarvis, who was everything you deserved in a father.”

Tony’s face crumbles with sorrow. “And you, right? You’re my family too, right?” he asks, quietly.

_God, you’re pathetic, Tony._

Sam’s eyes gleam with surprise and want. His hand tightens around Tony’s. “Yeah, honey, I’m your family too, as long as you want me to be.” He pauses. “Uh, does that mean you’ve-”

“You broke my heart, you know,” he tells Sam, solemnly.

Sam flinches. “Yeah, I know. And you know that I’m-”

“-sorry, yeah, I know,” Tony finishes for him, staring down at his lap. He drags his hand over his face. “I’m not, uh, I’m not _there_ yet, but-”

Sam’s thumb drags back and forth over his palm, and Tony’s drawn to the contrast their tangled hands make, Sam’s warm-russet, broad and deft against his olive, long-fingered, and sharp-lined.

“I’m waiting,” Sam reassures. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony drags a hand over his face. “I want to go and see her,” he explains, haltingly. “I want to meet her.”

Sam blinks. “That’s… understandable,” he says, cautiously.

“She lives in London. I’ve, uh, I’ve got this cabin in Wrington. We could stay there, if you’d like,” Tony says, awkwardly. “Or I could get us a suite at Claridge’s, whatever you want.”

Sam clears his throat. “We?” he questions.

“Yeah,” Tony cracks his knuckles. “I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to come with me? I mean, feel free to say no. I know I’m putting you on the spot, and I don’t want-”

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” Sam says, quickly.

Tony bites his lip, something loosening in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course, Tony. Of course, I’ll come with you.”

Tony swallows, thickly. “Okay,” he says, lightly. “Okay, great.”

* * *

His cabin in Wrington is beautiful, he has to admit. It’s made of dark log, and it’s supremely warm inside, which makes it such a sweet respite when he and Sam have to trudge through the knee-deep snow to actually get to the door. He keys in the alarm code, a terribly complicated thing of sixteen digits that changes every year (bless his eidetic memory), and the door gives away with a slick little sound.

“Thank fucking God,” Sam declares, teeth chattering.

Tony laughs, and they swarm inside, shutting the door on the ice.

“Man, that was cold,” Sam wheezes, dragging his giant parka off his shoulders.

“Apparently, that was winter in fucking Wrington,” Tony sighs, immediately switching on the heat.

It doesn’t come on.

Tony stares at the thermostat console like he’s willing for the heat to come on with his mind.

“Let me guess,” Sam says, dryly. “The heater’s not working.”

Tony rounds on him. “Shut up,” he warns.

Sam chuckles. “It’s okay, you know.”

“No, it’s not, it’s fucking freezing,” Tony complains, rubbing his hands together.

Sam drags a hand over his scalp. “Can you fix it?”

“On a normal day, I could,” Tony says. “But the main power source for the heating isn’t located on the premises. It’s a trudge through the snow for about two miles that way.”

Sam sighs. “Joy.”

Tony rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he says, sheepishly.

Sam blinks. “Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault. It’s just, it’s fucking cold.”

“Tell me about it.” Tony shakes his head. “Okay, we can, uh, we can sleep down here on the rug. It’ll be warm, and maybe, we can light a fire? Fuck if I know how to light a fire. Do you know how to light a fire?”

“I do, let me just, uh-”

Sam makes his way over to the fireplace, rough and unused. Tony doesn’t much pay attention, but moments later, there’s a fire roaring where there only used to be ice. He gapes at it in disbelief.

“You have magic hands, Wilson,” he comments.

Sam flicks him a dirty, amused look. “I do, but you already knew that.”

Tony finds himself flushing in this cold, ducking his head like he was shy. “Yeah, I did.”

Sam spreads out over the rug, like a starfish, and beckons him closer with a hand. Tony pads over, laying his back down by the dusty couch. He lies out on the rug beside Sam, a little stiffer, more like a board, unsure of what to do, how to act, if he’s allowed to curl up like a tiny seed against Sam’s bulk.

Finally, he sighs and turns onto his side.

A moment later, Sam is wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close against a broad chest.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, unbearably soft and unsure. “I just thought, until the fire warms us up, we should probably conserve body heat.”

Tony swallows, thickly, unable to put words to how much he wants that, how much he wants Sam’s hold. He nods, the blood hot in his face.

“You know, most people would think that was a lame come-on,” he says, as casually as possible.

“Yeah, well, two birds with one stone and all that,” Sam says, slyly. “By the way, did you think I wouldn’t realise that you were wearing my sweatshirt?”

Tony pauses, and his heart beats rapidly against the notches in his spine. “Oh,” he says, lamely.

“Yeah,” Sam says, amused.

“Okay, so, firstly, I didn’t realise it was yours until I was already wearing it,” Tony says, quickly. “Secondly, I didn’t realise you’d left it in my room, which was a massive fail on your part, by the way.”

“Of course.”

“Thirdly, it’s really comfy, okay. Fourthly, I totally don’t wear it because like it still smells like you or is the only thing that even remotely feels like home since we broke up.” He makes a noise of scorn. “Absolutely not,” he declares.

“I believe you, babe,” Sam says, gently. He pauses. “Are you sure you’re okay with me touching you like this?” he asks, carefully, almost thin and strained. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Tony sighs, closing his eyes when Sam’s hand drags back and forth over the slope of his hip. “I’ll let you know if I have any problems.”

“Okay,” Sam murmurs, tugging at his ear with his teeth. “I missed you.”

Tony swallows thickly. “I missed you too. I missed you touching me,” he blurts out.

Sam nudges his nose against Tony’s shoulder. “I dreamed about you every night,” he tells him. “Fuck, Tony,” his mouth trembles against Tony’s throat. “How did we end up here?”

The weariness, it suffocates Tony. “I don’t know,” he whispers. His hand reaches up to cover the one on his hip. “Sam, about the airport, I’m sorry.”

Sam shakes his head, like he doesn’t want to hear it. “No, Tony-”

“No, Sam, I shot you,” he says, urgently. “when you were just trying to help with Rhodey. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I hurt you, and you were upset for Rhodey and-”

“Stop,” Tony snaps. “You’re the one who talks about boundaries, Sam. If you fucked up, then, so did I. I fucked up too. I’m allowed to fuck up, you know. I know you love me; I know you want this to be okay now. I love you for it, but I fucked up at the airport. I’m sorry.”

“I fucked up more,” Sam declares.

Tony chews on his lower lip. “Sam, you should’ve told me about the super soldiers, I wish you hadn’t fought me; you hurt me,” he says, cautiously. “But I love you, and I still want to be with you; will you stay with me? Do you forgive me?”

Sam’s eyes are edged with tears, tears that Tony doesn’t think will ever fall (Sam isn’t a crier; a part of Tony wishes he was, but Sam isn’t good with that).

“Tony, I love you, of course, I forgive you,” he insists, thumb brushing over Tony’s blushing throat.

“Good,” Tony swallows. “Now, I want you to fuck me.”

Sam groans and presses his mouth to Tony’s, careful, then fierce and hot, until Tony’s turning onto his back and Sam is surging on top of him. Sam’s hands go for the button on his jeans and his zipper, and Tony’s squirming out of them, his hands slipping under Sam’s shirt to splay out against his back. Sam’s jeans are to go next, followed by Tony’s and his shirts, and Tony’s hand wraps around Sam’s cock. Sam hisses, pressing his mouth against the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“You’ve been a little hard-up, huh?” Tony teases.

Sam laughs. “What can I say? All I’ve had is my hand for months,” he complains.

Tony sighs. “I wish I could say the same.”

Sam reels back, a flummoxed expression on his face, half-terrified.

“Vibrator,” Tony says, slowly.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, a smile threatening to break out. “You’re awful,” he declares.

“I am, and I’m still waiting for you to put this beautiful cock inside me and fuck me until I can’t breathe,” Tony says, sweetly, casting his long lashes low.

He gasps when Sam’s cock nudges between his thighs. The stretch and burn make his hips spasm, and he grits his teeth. Sam goes in dry, but slow, and Tony can take him. He lets himself breathe better and easier when he’s up inside him, right to the hilt.

“I should’ve used lube,” Sam says, worriedly.

Tony snorts, his throat flexing. “Babe, you know I’d just get frustrated.”

Sam smooths a hand over his flank. “You okay?”

Tony nods, licking his lips. “Just, uh,” he shifts. “Just give me a minute.”

Sam clenches up tight above him, gleaming skin and lean muscle, and he waits. He waits until Tony sighs and grips his shoulder.

“Go, move,” he urges.

Sam groans and thrusts, testing the waters. Tony winces at the sting. Sam rolls his hips, again and again, and the air drags out of Tony’s lungs with each hot little grind. Sam grunts, softly, with each thrust, his hands on Tony’s hips, and the sound itself makes Tony’s belly spasm. They’ve been apart for so long that Tony comes quickly, his voice catching, the blood pounding in his ears.

Sam fucks him through it, milking the orgasm from him, and he crashes over that edge himself on the second thrust, pulsing inside her. When he pulls out, Tony feels that mess between his thighs and sighs.

“That’s gonna be a bitch without a hot shower,” he complains.

Sam chuckles. “Not the worst we’ve done. Remember that time in Harlem-”

“Oh, my God, you are not allowed to talk about that, remember?” Tony snaps.

“All I’m saying is that-”

“Wow, I so resent having sex with you right now,” he huffs.

“I don’t think it gets worse than my mother walking in on us in my bedroom, surrounded by my model airplanes,” Sam jokes.

Tony sniffs. “Your mother adored me; we worked past it.”

“You defiled her baby boy in her home; there was no working past it.” Sam pokes him in the belly.

“Rude,” Tony retorts. “Especially since I’m the only way that you get good sex and hot water for the foreseeable future.”

Sam makes an odd little noise. “Honey, I’ve seen you walk in snow before; you’re not going ten feet past that door, sorry.”

Tony turns onto his side, and the heat of the fire casts a dark, mean shadow across the wall behind him. “You’ll regret being so mean to me when Bigfoot eats me,” he declares.

“Perish the thought,” Sam says, dryly, and spoons him happily.


End file.
